


interlude

by ashinan



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Blankets, Fluff, Just Sheer Fluff, M/M, Post S6, Self-Indulgent, naps, spoilers for S6
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-21
Updated: 2018-06-21
Packaged: 2019-05-26 06:48:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14995160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashinan/pseuds/ashinan
Summary: Quiet indulgent moments have been rare for Shiro. He's quite enjoying them now.





	interlude

**Author's Note:**

> this is quite literally just soft self indulgent sheith because I want shiro to sleep always and I want keith to cuddle him and I am a season 6 mess okay

Time was - funny when Shiro was in the astral plane. There was nothing linear, nothing concrete; just the flux and twist of the horizon around him.  Sometimes, Black would settle beside him, shrinking to a visage that didn’t pain Shiro to look upon. Sometimes, she settled her massive muzzle against his thigh and purred thunder loud until Shiro could witness the stream of time as though it were a river. Other times, Black would crouch above him in all her regality, cloaked in tendrils of time and space and the pockets in between. More often than not, Shiro had been left to his own devices, trapped within a bubble of spacetime that stretched him thin and tiny.

His dreams contain wisps of memories not his own. Allura had explained an integration of sorts: the cloned Shiro’s experiences mixing and solidifying with Shiro’s own over the past year. Time isn’t linear when Shiro sleeps. Memories don’t slot perfectly into place; sometimes Shiro is left with a puzzle of pieces that he has to sort and poke at until something clicks. Sometimes, he misses entire swathes of time and other times he gains an immediate and visceral understanding of a single moment. It can happen at any moment and often catches him unawares. It’s disconcerting and exhausting and sleep isn’t quite the reprieve he was hoping for. Granted, it’s not much better when he’s awake.

A familiar pang in his left shoulder rouses him from sleep. His eyes dip heavy, eager to toss him back into sleep; he’s spent more times passed out than he has awake at this point, so the few times he’s able to gain consciousness remain precious. Smacking his lips, Shiro rubs his face against the fabric beneath his chin, humming as fingers comb through his hair in a lovely rhythm.

“You can sleep more,” Keith says whisper soft. Shiro shifts until his nose is pressed against Keith’s belly button, gaze half-lidded as he yawns. Nails scratch deliciously against his hairline. “Black’s navigating right now.”

Casting his thoughts wide, Shiro stumbles against Black’s consciousness with all the finesse of a clumsy cub. Black purrs, loud and brilliant, outside and inside Shiro’s mind. Delighted, Shiro pokes at her and she pokes back. They’re somewhere on the outskirts of a galaxy? Past Olkarion, toeing the edges of a galaxy and plotting trajectories. Black peppers his thoughts with shimmering nebulae and encapsulating stars, an infinite sprawl of starlight and a destination honed by a shared want. Shiro hums pleasantly and tucks his knees up, flexing his toes. He can do that now. He has _toes._

“I’ve been sleeping a lot,” Shiro rasps out. Keith shifts under him, bumping Shiro closer to his stomach. Shiro takes the opportunity to wrap his arm around Keith’s waist, struggling a moment with the offset of weight. Keith huffs a laugh but continues to shift until he settles back.

Gently, Keith tugs on Shiro’s bangs. “I have some water here. Prop up for me?”

“Mm, nah,” Shiro says, grinning when Keith sighs gustily. He worms his fingers beneath Keith’s shirt so he can spread them wide against Keith’s lower back, the warmth of his skin and the sharp bumps of his spine. Stars, he missed this. He wiggles until he’s completely tucked against Keith, breathing in his scent and tucking it against him like a security blanket. The astral plane had no smell. It had no taste and no touch and nothing but a hopeless expanse of starlight and his slowly unwinding sanity. Keith remains solid beneath Shiro’s touch, real and present and so damn close that Shiro wants to mold himself to Keith and never be apart again.

“You’re so clingy.” Keith laughs, running his fingers through Shiro’s hair once more. Shiro hums his offense. He’s the right amount of clingy, thank you. His knees catch on Keith’s hip, shins cooling against the metal of the wall, and he taps his big toe against a seam. Black nudges against his thoughts, directing his attention to the ache in his throat.

Petulant, Shiro rolls onto his back and squints up at Keith. A full year without Keith. It’s become a pattern and Shiro hates it. First the Kerberos mission, then the gladiator ring, and then lost in Black’s astral plane, counting time by the rocks in her rivers and the shift of starlight around him. He despises that he’s missed so much, that he’s lost time to be there for Keith, to be _with_ Keith; he’s lost the quiet moments and the stolen corners and the giddy laughter and the adrenaline heavy fights.

Hunk and Pidge had explained the leap of time Keith had experienced but the condensed two years are painted on Keith with the utmost care. His bangs have grown, his cheekbones have sharpened, and the cut of his jaw fits perfectly against Shiro’s questing thumb. Shiro follows the line of it up to Keith’s cheek, to the scar still bright with bubbled edges and slowly healing skin. Keith catches his wrist, gaze just that side of lovingly soft, and tucks his cheek against Shiro’s palm.

“Water?”

“Probably. Black is being motherly.”

Keith laughs, the slightest indents curling into his skin near his eyes. Shiro rubs his fingertips against them. “She has reason to. Come on, you can sleep again after you’ve had some water and eaten.”

Groaning, Shiro drops his arm over his eyes and gathers his strength. The other downside to being sheer essence for a year: being crammed back into a physical form is torturous. Well, soft of. Being a metaphysical presence trapped within a space bubble was no picnic, really, and now he has a form again. He has fingers. And eyelids. Teeth are so very bizarre, just little juts of bone that catch his tongue if he chews wrong. A year stretched into starlight had left him with a new appreciation for the scars on his skin and the brush of eyelashes against his cheeks; the warmth of a palm against his, fingers touching his chin, lips against his temple. Shiro indulges in the sweet agony of being corporeal.

Clenching his core, Shiro crunches up. Keith catches the back of his sweater. The sudden shift in balance nearly collapses him against the wall but he compensates. The hunk of metal that had been his shoulder was removed on Olkarion but the physiotherapy had been cut short by the sheer desire to get back to Earth. From whole to part Galra weapon to essence to just Shiro. He stretches his shoulder blades and shivers at the phantom tingle of machinery and flesh.

The straw bumps against his chin and Shiro narrows his eyes at Keith. A grin plays over Keith’s lips, those eye crinkles popping up again, and Shiro bites down on the straw to still it. Black hums her approval, a smothering presence that Shiro quietly basks in. Keith maintains his hold on Shiro’s sweater. He’s so warm. Shiro finishes his water and scoots back just enough that he can lean against Keith.

“I can get you some more,” Keith says, tossing the empty container into the far corner. Black’s offense is whip fast and hilarious; Shiro chuckles. Keith rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll clean it up when he’s passed out again. Stop hovering.”

Black’s affront smacks them both upside the head but she backs off, content to observe. Beyond, stars shift by in an ever evolving tapestry. Shiro catches his breath. Flesh and blood is such a small temple for the sheer expanse of his essence. “Lungs are weird.”

“You’ve said weirder things,” Keith says. Shiro nudges his temple against Keith’s cheek. “Why are lungs weird, Shiro?”

Warmth glows in Shiro’s chest, content and pleased and indulged. Keith slips a hand under Shiro’s sweater to pet at his side. “Just stop and breathe for a second. We’re made of all these weird interconnected parts that just operate without our knowledge. I don’t need to think about breathing but I do. My lungs expand, my heart beats, and then all that air comes rushing out again. That’s so weird.”

“You were starlight and Black’s will for a year,” Keith slips a thumb under the elastic of Shiro’s sweats, “and you think lungs are weird?”

Shiro laughs, dropping his chin on Keith’s shoulder. “Try breathing! It’s weird.”

“Stop distracting me.” Pinching Shiro’s side, Keith flops back and reaches over his head, tugging at the kit that Hunk had shoved into the Black Lion before they’d set off. Various foodstuffs and medicinal containers create a Tetris like block. Shiro puffs out his cheeks before gladly using Keith’s prone body as a convenient pillow.

They sprawl for a while, Keith poking through the kit while Shiro relearns the edges of Keith’s body. He’s grown so much. Not quite as tall as Shiro yet, but so much more than he was before Shiro died. Warm and solid and - Shiro tucks his face into the shadow of Keith’s throat, finds solace and familiarity in the way they fit together. Still his. Still Keith. Two sides of the same coin. Shiro slings a leg over Keith’s hips and yawns.

The rhythm of Keith’s pulse lulls Shiro into a doze. Black sways, her thoughts a kaleidoscope of purple starlight and a cascading waterfall of sparkling time that tug Shiro deeper into the stretched expanse of sleep. Keith rumbles Shiro’s name. Shiro hums and noses at Keith’s pulse. Warm. Close. He could spend millenia tucked into the contour of Keith’s body, enveloped by safety and the surety of Keith’s touch.

Instead, Keith drags Shiro awake with more murmured words and the slow withdrawal of his body. Shiro complains, first with nonsense noise and then with Keith’s name drawn out and morose. Keith slips a kiss against Shiro’s hair. Drops another against his temple and the tip of his nose. As Keith slips completely free, he drops one final kiss on the corner of Shiro’s mouth and rubs a thumb along Shiro’s cheekbone. The touch rouses Shiro more than his name does.

“You know the rules. Eat, then sleep.”

Black echoes the sentiment.

Thankfully, most of the food is simple tear and swallow, so Shiro finishes his meal with time to spare. He bullies Keith into lying down again so he can get comfortable, tucking his face against Keith’s chest and the heavy thrum of his heart. Keith yanks a blanket up and over Shiro’s shoulders. Black hums, sings a melody that bathes Shiro’s senses in red and blue and green and yellow, dapples the shadows with purple starlight and silver galaxies. Shiro sighs, fingers groping until Keith catches his hand and locks their palms together.

Shiro falls into sleep surrounded by Keith, cradled by the Black Lion, and wonderfully, stunningly, alive.

**Author's Note:**

> come follow me on [ tumblr](http://ashinan.tumblr.com/) where I am always crying over sheith


End file.
